Tears of a clown

Bev says:

There is a man I walk past almost every time I come to this office, and he makes me so sad.

I see him all the time because it’s his job to stand in the street, dressed up as a clown or magician or something, spruiking for Abracadabra – a magic themed restaurant which is also, bizarrely, on Jermyn Street.

Rain or shine, he is forced to stand outside in his curly Court Jester style slippers, trying to lure those city gentlemen and gentlewomen shod in the better kind of shoe, those least likely to be interested in a themed booth or a Harlequin Burger, into his pathetic establishment.

For the most part he stands silent, sullenly smoking a cigarette.

Published in: on October 29, 2008 at 6:05 am  Leave a Comment  
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Credit crunch

It was Bev’s turn to bring in the Friday morning tea for her office colleagues. The tradition was fantastic when it was someone else bringing in the goodies, but for once, Bev didn’t resent her turn this time. Her elevenses treat was the result of the most amazing brain-wave she’d had. Perhaps she’d enter one of those television quizzes?

Marching into the office kitchen with her clacky heels at 10:55am, Bev unveiled her baked sweets (with what she hoped was a stylish flourish), to her colleagues who had gathered in anticipation.

“These are… credit crunches!” announced Bev.

Her colleagues gasped as they saw them. But, in fairness, they really were the most amazing snacks. Large, flat biscuits with intricate icing designs inspired by the global financial crisis, that Bev had forced her maid to get perfectly to scale the night before.

“Oh, my gosh, is that the Nikkei crashing?” asked one of her colleagues.

“The London FTSE 100?” asked another. “And is that a Wall St Trader in tears?”

Suddenly, one of the admins, Dorothy, burst into tears and fled the kitchen. “Oh, no,” explained an admin, “Dorothy’s banker husband was laid off yesterday”. Eyes were dropped and one by one, people shuffled out, leaving Bev with a full tin of credit crunches.

“I really do work with the most boring bunch,” thought Bev.

Published in: on October 28, 2008 at 4:50 am  Leave a Comment  
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Allergy

“Oh, no thanks. I have an allergy.” And with that, Bev’s expensive Belgian chocolates were waved away by a colleague.

“A what? No, they’re only chocolates!” Bev reasoned, trying not to make a scene in the quiet office. Bev had spent a fortune on these sweets. It was important to look successful and affluent during a company merger.

“I have a gluten allergy,” explained the colleague with exagerated enunciation, her french manicured nails tapping on the desk with … was that impatience?!

“Oh dear … Your loss.” Bev swivelled on her heel and clacked away.

How excessively irritating! Bev fumed as she tapped the tea machine aggresively. Gluten-free-this and nut-allergy-that. Who were these people?? Bev longed for the days of obligation, when a proffered choc would be accepted and consumed out of politeness and decency, to hang with the crippling stomach cramps. Modern society had lost its moral compass.

Although…

It did sound exotic.

And all those people having to make a special fuss!

Perhaps she’d get an allergy in the morning.

Published in: on October 25, 2008 at 6:10 am  Leave a Comment  
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Tannoy madness

Bev says:

We have had a series of announcements on our Tannoy system.

Lots of rustling and a beep-bop noise

“Attention, attention. Fire has been reported on levels 4 and 5. Please leave the building”

Further sounds of rustling and a beep-bop noise

“Attention, attention. No action is required at this point”

Further sounds of rustling and a beep-bop noise, followed by a new voice:

“Get out, get out while you still can!”

Sounds of laughing

“Catch me if you can”

Beep-bop.

 And everyone starts laughing.

Well, at the expense of someone’s job, it’s been a good laugh.

Published in: on October 23, 2008 at 7:33 am  Leave a Comment  
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Cocoa with Bromwyn

Bev looked out at the sodden London rain-scape and saw her Sphinx plant pot containing the pathetically brave English houseplants, even now being battered by the blast of London’s grimmest November weather. Curled up on her sofa, watching Channel 4 News and sipping a bitter mug of hot 99% cocoa, she could hardly know about the ancient Egyptian curse she had unwittingly brought back in her suitcase from her holidays. It would have been so much better if she’d declared the ancient artefact as she came through Customs. Centuries in the merciless heat had held the spectre at bay, but now, merry heck was about to be let loose in Bev’s compact and bijoux apartment as the rain lashed against the planter and, like a dried seahorse uncurling and coming to life, the primal phantom of Pharoahess Bromwyn would be knocking on her window pane just moments from now. Bev would get such a shock when she saw the image of her old boss, perched and sopping, outside her window on the balcony, but oh what a mistake, what a fatal mistake, to let her in…

Published in: on October 14, 2008 at 3:58 am  Leave a Comment  
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Instinctive break

Adrian glanced at his wristwatch, although there was hardly any need. He knew instinctively that this was the time: 2:40pm. He opened his desk drawer and retrieved the familiar lemonade bottle. Pouring himself a small beaker full of the fizzing sweet beverage, he prepared himself for his afternoon break at his desk. Drink on one side of his keyboard, Twix bar on the other; everything perfectly in balance. And the protective comfort of his brown cardigan, to keep him warm from the beastly air conditioning outlet that was sited in the ceiling above him, pointing directly at the back of his neck.

Published in: on October 8, 2008 at 5:04 am  Comments (1)  
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Cake and the devil

Finally, at the end of an eternity, the angst’d youth left the Vicar’s study and he was on his own. The tea trolley was waiting and in a bound he was there. He hacked into the cake like a man possessed by the devil, cutting himself a generous wedge of the tempting, moist, firm sweetmeat.

“Oh cakey, cakey, Cakey!!” the Vicar muttered excitedly to himself, and dispensing with the niceties of using a fork, crammed the thin end of the double serving straight into his wide-open mouth.

Just then, the telephone rang.

Published in: on October 3, 2008 at 6:16 am  Comments (1)  
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More tea, Vicar

“Ah yes,” said the Vicar who was slumped heavily in the old leather arm chair in the half-light of the late afternoon, his empty china tea cup resting in his right hand on the arm of the chair. His response was completely disconnected from the young parishioner whom he was counseling; in fact the Vicar had been in a drifting haze of half-consciousness and half-nap: a skill he had perfected these many years such that his occasional “Ah yes” remarks convinced the guest of his interest and attentiveness, while in fact he enjoyed a brief kip.

A light trumpeting sound emanated from the trousers of the Vicar, at which he shuffled slightly in the old chair, a move so oft practiced it was subconscious to the grey-haired cleric. The self-absorbed young guest continued with his monologue of introspection while the Vicar eyed the ticking clock on the mantle and wished for the minute hand to arrive at the top of the hour, a moment at which the youth would be politely but firmly dismissed from the parsonage with his woes bundled up in his nylon anorak, and another cup of stewed tea could be poured, along with a generous second serving of the house-keeper’s moist cake. Lovely.

Published in: on October 2, 2008 at 6:08 am  Comments (2)  
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